Irony

It finally hit me
The sheer irony of it.
There were two things we said
one each;

You said
"I don't want us
to turn into two people that just fuck."
And me
"I don't want us
to end up going in circles."

We did both.
I accepted it
with a smile.

The only pain left
is that
pf acknowledged
defeat.

*

  The visitor comes and sits, for a day or two and sometimes longer, quietly in the corner. He is not to be commented upon, just idly accompanies me. Always turns up unexpected with nothing so much as a notice beforehand. His exit from the room and subsequent departure is anticipated, though the exact hour and moment a complete mystery. I revel in his presence, don't question, too delighted with his proximity. 

  We read in quiet and sometimes I draw, there's daydreaming on end, he introduces me to music from the world, lately he's taken it into his head to listen to flamenco music and cuban, something about the language being unknown that enchants the soul and soothes it he says. I catch words and phrases here and there. Smoking is rarely included, not because of an untold restriction but rather due the absence of any internal need. I smoke only in the company of others that inspire me to. There has been talk of me cutting but I treasure the ritual of it, I promise I'll think of it and never do.

  The silence is precious, the balance usually fragile but still I feel content. Then a cloud passes over the eyes, he gets up quietly, a kiss, a vague promise to return, some time, at some point. 

  I acknowledge the reality of the situation.

Spilling

It crossed my mind
it did
it did
I chose to bury it deep
instead
for I could barely

stop

my self.


He was
caressing my belly
and you mouthed at me
Kiss me
I'll explode

and I was filling up
with desire
and self-restraint

and I am spilling
spilling

all

            over.